


A Sort Of Homecoming

by Ashtray_Heart



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Athelstan topping, Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gap Filler, Lots of kissing and talking, M/M, Nothing whatsoever happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 12:42:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9235685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashtray_Heart/pseuds/Ashtray_Heart
Summary: After Ragnar's fight with his wife, Athelstan tries to make him understand Aslaug's perspective. It's basically just the two of them on their first night back in Kattegat (S03E05), talking about marriage, relationships and women.





	

There was a series of loud knocks on the door and Athelstan jumped, knocking over one of the candles he had been reading by. He let out a cry of surprise and grabbed his book, in a desperate attempt to protect it from the hot flow of liquid wax. He hastily blew out the candle and answered the door--only to find Ragnar there, swinging a bottle and two drinking horns in his hand.

“Oh.” Athelstan blinked, twice. “It’s you.”

He let out a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding.

“No need to sound so disappointed,” Ragnar said, his lips curling into a lopsided smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes; Athelstan could tell something was wrong at once. “Did I interrupt something? I didn’t mean to.”

He had long developed a habit of switching to Athelstan’s mother tongue when they were at his place. Whether he did it for practice or in order to make him feel more at home, Athelstan never asked, but was profoundly grateful for it.

“No, sorry,” Athelstan shook his head, making a small dismissive gesture with his hand. “I was just...reading. I wasn’t expecting you tonight.” He gave him a small smile and stepped aside from the door to let the other man in. “Come in.”

Heading inside, Ragnar pressed a lingering kiss to Athelstan’s temple. His hand wrapped around the nape of his neck, and Athelstan found himself leaning into the touch.

“Can I stay the night?” Ragnar breathed into his ear.

“You know you're always welcome here,” he smiled. “Are you sure though that is what you want?” he added, a bit anxiously. “We just got back home, I thought you would like to spend the night with---“

“With my beautiful wife?” Ragnar pulled away, his jaw a little tense.

Athelstan saw his features harden and stiffen.

“Well, yes. With your family.”

The other man snorted.

“I consider you family as well.”He put the bottle down on the table with a bit more force than necessary, and unceremoniously dropped himself into the bed.“I brought mead,” he motioned towards the beer, winking. “I know you like it better than ale. Will you drink with me?”

“It depends,” Athelstan tilted his head to the side, still leaning against the door. “Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

Ragnar laughed curtly. “Nothing new under the sun.” He poured drink for both of them, hand shaking slightly, and handed Athelstan his own. “Drink first and then we’ll talk?”

Athelstan took it and pulling his knees to his chest settled on a chair opposite him, looking rather dumbfounded.

“Was that... from the Bible?” Ragnar shrugged.“You really never cease to amaze me.”

“Some of your words stick in, that is all.”

“You used to fall asleep whenever I started to read. I didn’t realise you listened.”

“I always listen when you speak,” Ragnar muttered, staring into his drink. He was so lost in his thoughts he missed how the other man's expression changed into a mixture of warm fondness and disbelief.

Athelstan absentmindedly sipped his mead, lips lingering on the rim of the horn for a moment.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling brightly.

“For what?” Ragnar asked, rather confused.

“Nothing. Forget about it,” Athelstan shook his head, and raised the horn to his mouth to hide the smile still curling on his lips. “Please, talk to me,” he urged him, gaze searching Ragnar’s.

“If you insist so much.” Ragnar took another gulp from his horn and wiped his mouth. He made an attempt to grin, although it looked more like a snarl. Athelstan could see his lips trembling in anger. “We had a fight. Again.” He didn’t need to elaborate. “I feel helpless, Athelstan. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to trust her again. And Siggy,” he laughed darkly, shaking his head.” My brother nearly got himself killed today.”

Athelstan gave him an inquiring look but did not speak.

“What about Ivar?” he asked at last. “The...um, Lagertha told me the wanderer cured him of his pain. Is that true?”

“He-whoever he is,” he snorted, “took his pain away, that’s true, but that does not change the fact the boy is a cripple. He will never walk, he will never fight, and you know what?” Ragnar smiled bitterly. “His silence is just as overwhelming as his agony had been. It's driving me mad. He starts crying whenever I pick him up as if he knew that I wanted to...that I almost...”

He trailed off. The candlelight oddly deepened the wrinkles around Ragnar’s eyes and forehead, and he suddenly gave the impression of someone who had aged a lot in a very short time. The past few months had been rough on him, Athelstan knew it—he refused to appear anything but strong in front of his people, but weariness crept across his face when he thought no one is watching.

“Come here,” Ragnar said softly, extending a hand towards him, and Athelstan took it. Ragnar’s hand was rough, calloused against his own, yet nothing ever felt so familiar and comforting, not even the smell of old parchment.

He climbed onto the bed and swung his leg over his lover's lap to straddle him. A shadow of Ragnar’s usual mischievous grin reappeared on the corner of his lips, and his hands quickly found their way to the other man's waist.

“Remember when I used to sing the boys before bed?” Athelstan asked, smiling.

Ragnar chuckled.

“Those horrible Christian songs of yours? Yes, I do. How could I possibly forget?”

Athelstan rolled his eyes, pretending he was offended, but bent down to pull him into an indulgent kiss, nevertheless. It was almost chaste, just a soft pressing of the lips, and then he smiled and pressed his forehead against Ragnar's.

“Well, I’ve grown up in a monastery, what else was I supposed to sing? Besides, it worked.”

“It’s your soft, gentle voice that worked. Always lulled them into sleep.” Ragnar grinned. “That or they had rather chosen to doze off instead of listening to you.”

“No lullaby for you today, then, I suppose.”

Ragnar did not reply at once, but reached up to loosen the tie on Athelstan's hair and undid his ponytail, letting the mane of black curls slowly fall down to his shoulder blades. After five days spent on a longboat his hair needed washing, but Ragnar didn't seem to mind the grease. He kept brushing his fingers through Athelstan's hair, tucking loose strands behind his ear absently.

“She is lying---Aslaug,” he broke the silence at last, looking serious again. “Or she is withholding something that lead to Siggy’s death. I asked her directly whether there is something that she’s hiding from me, and she lied straight into my face.” His voice came out weary. “Then we kissed, and I felt....I felt---”

Athelstan brought up both hands to cup his lover’s face, pulling him into a kiss. As though in awe, Ragnar’s lips parted instinctively. He tilted his head for a better angle, securing his hand around the nape of Athelstan's neck, deepening the kiss further. It was messy and desperate, nothing like the ones Athelstan had shared with Judith. Ragnar’s mouth was warm, wet and tasted like mead, and underneath that there was a familiar taste he had been missing dearly.

When they parted, Ragnar let out a soft chuckle that quickly found its echo in Athelstan.

“Since when are you so passionate about my marriage?” he asked, breathless, and Athelstan chortled into the kiss.

“I'm afraid you're not going to like what I'm about to tell you,” he said, and well aware that their position was not fit for serious conversation, climbed off Ragnar's lap, ignoring his protest. He made for the chair once again, and poured himself more drink.

“Is that so?” Ragnar jawned. “Try me.” He stripped off his tunic to reveal a muscular chest full of old scars Athelstan knew so well. After dropping the fabric to the floor, he let himself fall back on the bed, hands folded under his head. “Or even better, come back to bed and continue kissing me---”

“This is probably the last thing you would want to hear at the moment,” Athelstan cut in, purposely ignoring Ragnar’s comment, “but you must find forgiveness in your heart.”

Ragnar groaned, pulling the blankets up to his face.

“Like a good Christian?” his voice came out muffled, “You were right, I don't like where this conversation is heading to."

“This has nothing to do with faith. She made a mistake leaving the boys alone, yes but---“

“Mistake?” Ragnar propped on his elbow. “You call that a mistake? They could have died, Athelstan. Weren’t it for Siggy, both of them would be dead by now. I made a huge mistake sleeping with this woman, and I am reaping the consequences ever since.”

“What I am trying to say is,” Athelstan went on calmly, sipping on his mead, “you should consider that maybe you are not the only one having hard days. Whenever you go on a raid you leave her with the children behind for months---and she does not complain---not much, anyway---but believe me, it’s not easy. Being left behind.”

Ragnar snorted. “So what, am I supposed to take her with me so that next time she will be the one losing half of her face?” Athelstan shook his head. “And tell me, why are you making it sound like I am travelling back and forth England for the sheer pleasure of it? I think we agreed it is for everyone’s benefit. Someone has to think bigger, you ought to know that by now.”

“You know perfectly well that is not what I meant at all,” Athelstan said mildly, without a trace of annoyance in his voice. “Please, Ragnar, listen to me. You know how much I admire you---so much that sometimes I fear I might burst with it---but I believe you are handling this completely wrong.”

“Oh, so you admire me?” Ragnar smirked. He looked very pleased with himself.

“Don’t change the subject.” Much to his annoyance Athelstan felt his cheeks burning, and looked away. “I don’t know Aslaug very closely,” he muttered, “not the way I do Lagertha, but from what I’ve seen so far, she is a good mother to your sons, and she would go to any length to protect them.”

“Your point being...?”

“My point being,” Athelstan took a deep breath, “She is trying, and all she needs from you is some... acknowledgement. And empathy. Just... try to be there for her.”

The silence that followed his words stretched so long that Athelstan started to fear he might have said the wrong thing. The other man’s expression was once again unreadable as he gazed into the dancing flames, and not quite knowing what to do, Athelstan drank, although it had no taste all.

Finally, Ragnar cleared his throat.

“You know, it’s funny you’re saying all this, because...She is not exactly very fond of you lately, to put it mildly. ”

“She’s...a bit cold to me, yes, I've noticed that,” Athelstan admitted reluctantly. “Does she know...?”

“No,” Ragnar cut in firmly. “I didn’t tell Aslaug, if that is what you mean....She has her suspicions though. She thinks I am paying you too much attention, and she probably doesn’t like that I value your opinion above anyone else’s. In any case,” he let out a deep breath, “what does it matter? You are right. I may not have been there for her lately,” he conceded. “But the truth is, I don’t know how to be there anymore. We don’t talk, because beside the children we have nothing to talk about, and even if we do talk, we end up jumping at each other’s throat. In the beginning it worked somehow...but she’s a princess, and I’m just a farmer. This place bores her, and I bore her.

“I doubt that. You’re the least boring person I’ve ever met.”

Ragnar snorted, although rather fondly.

“By all means, talk to her,” Athelstan insisted, suppressing a yawn. He rose to his feet and stretched, pulling his tunic over his head. “Letting her know she is not left alone with her problems would be a good start.”

He lifted the furs and climbed into bed, sidling up to his lover; Ragnar draped his arm around him the way he always did, their legs tangled together. A small pang of guilt crept into Athelstan's chest for not even trying to convince the other man to return to his marriage bed, and yet he couldn't help himself enjoying the warmth of Ragnar's body pressed against him. He felt as though he could fall asleep at any moment.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Ragnar grinned, dragging him out of his thoughts. “What made you such an expert in matters of women and marriage?“

“I did stay behind with Lagertha a couple of times, if you’ll recall.” He suppressed a jawn. “I observed, and learned a lot about women, and their ways of thinking.”

“Or so you like to flatter yourself,” Ragnar mused. “And what about that girl you liked so much? Back in Wessex.” It couldn't have been more obvious that he was bursting to bring up the subject.

There never was much use in trying to avoid a question, not with Ragnar, so Athelstan took a deep breath.

“I slept with her,” he confessed, feeling a blush of shame creeping up his face. Judith had never left his thoughts ever since their departure from Wessex. Guilt dug a deep, dark hole in his chest, no matter how hard he tried to ignore its existence.

Ragnar, on the other hand, looked as though it has taken all his self-control not to burst out laughing.

__

“You slept with Aethelwulf’s wife?”

“It only happened once,” Athelstan said defensively. “And I’m not proud of it. You weren't there and I was...I've been feeling lonely, but I shouldn’t have taken advantage.”

“You gave her what she desired,” Ragnar pointed out. “Besides it’s just sex, you shouldn’t be feeling bad about it.”

“She told me she loved me,” Athelstan burst out before he could stop himself. “She begged me not leave.”

Ragnar's lips curled into a grin.

“Then you must have been very good at whatever you did to her, huh?”

Athelstan blushed so furiously it made Ragnar laugh. “After all these years it is still so easy to make you blush...Tell me, how exactly did you make her fall in love with you? Did you use your mouth, the way I told you Lagertha liked it?”

Athelstan groaned and turned away from him, rolling over to his other side with as much dignity as he could muster, which if anything only made Ragnar laugh harder.

“I'm not going talk about that. Can we sleep now?”

“Why not?” Ragnar inquiered, propping himself up on his elbows to see the other man's face. “Men talk about these things all the time.”

“Then talk about it with other men,” Athelstan muttered. “I find it disrescpectful.”

He felt his lover's hand slip around his waist, huddling closer.

“You're stingy like a hedgehog,” Ragnar called softly, “Forgive me, I didn't want to pressure you. I'm just dying from curiousity.” He leaned in to press kisses to his bare shoulder.

That sent shivers down Athelstan's spine, despite himself, and sighing deeply he turned to face him.

“No harm done,” he said, placing a soft kiss to the corner of Ragnar's mouth. “It's just I really don't wish to talk about it.” Tossing aside the blankets covering them, Athelstan rolled him over onto his back, and climbed on top of him, his crotch pressed against his lover's. Ragnar had hardly enough time to let out a small sound of surprise, and Athelstan was kissing him again, hard, deep and insistent this time.

Ragnar's hands wrapped around the nape of his lover's neck, and he chortled into the kiss.

“Not that I'm complaining,” he breathed into Athelstan's mouth between kisses, “but weren't you tired, by any chance?”

“I was and I am, but I can get plenty of sleep when you're away. Besides, this won't take long.”

“No?” Ragnar grinned. “You clearly overestimate my attraction to you, young man.”

“Do I?” Athelstan smiled, eyes twinkling with mischief. He rolled his hips into his partner's, aimed well enough to make the other man grunt, and Ragnar felt his body responding immediately. That, of course, got Athelstan grinning. “You might want to rethink that.” Ragnar tried to turn him over, reverse their positions, however with Athelstan sitting on his lap with his full weight, it wasn't as easy as once had been, and soon enough Ragnar found himself being pushed back down to bed.

There was something intoxating about reserved, soft-spoken Athelstan towering above him and kissing him, his arousal pressed against Ragnar's as he continued to roll his hips against him in a steady rhythm.

He used to watch the man traning every day; his shoulders and chest getting broad, his once delicate hands becoming calloused from doing chores, still he couldn't stop wondering at how strong he had become.

Athelstan’s mouth slowly trailed downwards to his neck, sucking on the sensitive skin just the way he knew Ragnar liked it, and was rewarded with soft, half-suppressed moans. He was vaguely aware of his lover's fingers caressing the back of his neck, brushing through his curls gently.

“I want you inside me,” Ragnar gasped breathlessly and Athelstan chuckled.

__

“Again?”

“What, already getting tired of doing the hard work? You've only done it once, and that was before you left for settlement. Please,” Ragnar pleaded.

“Did you really like it so much last time?”

“I couldn't stop thinking about it while you were away. Didn't you---?”

Athelstan shook his head.

“No, of course I liked it, it's just...with the preperations it... takes up a lot of time?”

“I took a bath before I came here and,” Ragnar grinned, “I've even tried to... prepare myself, if that's any help.”

Athelstan laughed.

“What made you so sure we're going to do it like that?”

“Wishful thinking, for the most part. I was hoping you would take pity on me.”

“All right, then.” Athelstan leaned forward to press a kiss against his lover's forehead and climbed off him. “Let me see how prepared you are.”

Ragnar grinned. Hands trembling a little he reached for the laces of his breeches, and began untying. Once loosened, they came down easily along with the rough fabric of his linen underpants, revealing his erection, and Athelstan ached to touch him so badly it took all his self-restraint not to.

His fingers fumbled a little at the laces, his own arousal making him clumsy, but even so it was only a few moments before he tossed both of their trousers aside.

“I like it when you are wearing nothing but your arm ring,” Ragnar murmured, voice somewhat hoarse, his gaze lingering over his lover’s naked body.

Almost instinctively, Athelstan reached out to caress the band of metal on his wrist with his thumb. “Stop staring and lay on your side, it tends to be more comfortable that way,” he said. “Do we have any kind of... oil at all? I mean, I'm already....but that's not enough.” He blushed. “I don't want to---”

“Don't look so worried,” Ragnar grinned. “It has to be in one of my pockets.”

To Athelstan's astonishment, Ragnar really did take the time to prepare himself. One finger entered easily and before long, so did another one. Athelstan carefully began moving his fingers back and forth, pulling deep groans from the other man.

“Enough with the teasing,” Ragnar managed between gasps, and Athelstan could tell his lips curled into a smirk, even though he didn't see his face. “You're really not that big.”

“Is that meant as an insult?”

“No,” Ragnar answered, fingers clenching on the sheet beneath him, desperate to hold on to something. “You have a beautiful cock. Good-sized, even---” he started, but his voice quickly faded into a frustrated grunt when the other man pulled out.

Athelstan's hand shook a little as he wrapped his oily fingers around his erection and slid his palm up and down the shaft, his heart racing violently in his chest. He carefully positioned himself and then, steadying his partner by the hips, pushed into him slowly.

Words abandoned both of them when he started to move, their unspoken words exchanged through the motion of their bodies, the rhythm of their love-making so instinctive and familiar as if they were meant to be together--- and maybe they were.

Athelstan's cry of release remained stuck in his throat as he reached climax, back arching, toes curling, his lips slightly parted, and a few languorous strokes of his trembling hand was all Ragnar needed to come with a loud shout.

He let the last waves of his orgasm wash over him, and rolled onto his back, gasping for breath.

“Was it good for you?” Athelstan asked, leaning closer, a frown of uncertainty creeping over his flushed, sweaty face.

“Oh, yes... Yes it was. You did well, Athelstan.” He smiled, and Athelstan, in his haste to kiss him, ended up placing a very sloppy kiss to the corner of his mouth, which made both of them laugh.

Athelstan left the bed briefly to wash his hands in the bucket of water he fetched earlier, flinching as the cold water struck him.

“I forgot to tell you to keep your voice down,” he said as he quickly slid back under the furs, snuggling into the comforting warmth. He curled up beside Ragnar, resting his head on the other man's chest. “But I suppose it would not have been much of use, anyway.”

Ragnar grinned but didn't say anything. His hand found its way to Athelstan's hair, running his fingers through his sweaty, dishevelled curls gently.

“Ragnar?” Athelstan broke the silence after a while.

“Hmh?”

“Will you be here when I wake up?” His voice came out somewhat drowsy, as if already drifting off to sleep.

Ragnar's breath cought in his throat.

“If you want me to.”

“Yes.” Athelstan smiled, with his eyes closed. “I would like that.”

“Then I shall stay.”

Within minutes Athelstan fell fast asleep, curled up against his lover, his head pillowed on his arm, shape barely visible beneath the layers of fur covering him. He didn't even stir when Ragnar turned to face him, wrapping an arm lightly around his waist.

In sleep his features softened, giving him the impression of someone being at peace with himself. With all his defences down, he looked even younger than he was, and he was, indeed, very young---Ragnar kept reminding himself. The wisdom he tended to speak with suggested otherwise, but he was still a young man, with barely more than twenty-four summers behind him, and a lot more ahead.

For a long time Ragnar lay awake that night, listening to the steady rhythm of his lover’s breathing, struggling to fall asleep, and when he finally managed, a stranger came to him in his dream; a wanderer, his shape changeable and undefined, face half-hidden by the voluminous hood of his cloak---he was smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never actually written anything in English before, so in case you find any mistakes, please let me know so that I can fix them.
> 
> All credit goes to History Vikings. I own virtually nothing, not even the title, because that one belongs to U2.


End file.
